The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [99]
But I am not complaining. The people at Sign House were generous, open, kind, and supportive. Without them I would not have survived. But they were also advanced primates. That is to say, they were complicated, contradictory, and often difficult. But what else is new.
19
I am not good at adultery. Not because of any acquired or innate moral qualms (and God forbid one would invoke something as passé as morals in these matters). Nor do I mean the more palpable aspects of the undertaking, the enactment, in which I believe I acquitted myself quite respectably. Wherein lies the rub.
Perhaps because I find the pleasure so intense, a pleasure not unalloyed with a thrill of violation, I suffer from a surfeit of what might be called sexual gratitude. Hence the impulse to send flowers in the aftermath, if only because a thank-you note would be as inappropriate as a tip. Hence the nagging sense of obligation conflated with a persistent hankering to repeat the experience.
Or I may simply be susceptible to anyone who will indulge me, especially the way Merissa Bonne did. To paraphrase the great Yeats, in pleasure begins responsibility. Commitment may be an overused word these days, but commitment or something very like it is what I have begun to feel for the dear scatterbrained creature.
To begin where it began. Merissa readily agreed to come to the office when I called and told her there had been a development in the case that I’d like her to know about. She offered to take me to lunch. “Or come here, I’ll make something nice for both of us.”
I demurred on the latter offer and suggested that we go to lunch after meeting in my office.
She sighed facetiously. “Oh, Norman, I’ll never get to seduce you, will I?”
We both laughed.
I can’t say I wasn’t tempted when she showed up just before noon. She might have been a streetwalker of the more expensive sort the way her short skirt rode up her shapely haunches and the way her high-heeled boots curved up her calves. Hardly a widow in mourning. She gave me a full-on kiss when I came around the desk to greet her.
“Norman,” she sighed, her memorable perfume wafting over me like some pheromone signaling availability. “It is so good to see you.”
“Likewise,” I returned, holding on to her hand just short of blatant gallantry.
She turned to Alphus. “Oh, so this is what you’ve given up Di for. Well, Norman, she is cute in her way.”
“It’s a he,” I said. “His name’s Alphus.
She made a little wave. “Hi, Alphus. I hope Norman’s treating you well.”
He inclined his head in her direction.
She fluttered a bit more, glancing around with a twirl. “Oh, I do love this office. It’s like a little museum all its own.”
I resisted a self-deprecating remark about being its main exhibit. I said, “I feel at home here.”
She sat and crossed her admirable gams. I twiddled a pencil and tried to look worldly.
“So what’s all this about a development?”
“Well, there has been that. But first, I would like you to indulge me in a little …” To be honest, I had a few qualms about subjecting her to a virtual lie detector test without her knowledge or consent.
“Anything, Norman. I’ve always had a soft spot for you, if you know what I mean.” She tossed her abundant chestnut hair and I did know what she meant.
“You’re too much, Merissa dear, too much. No, all I have are some basic yes-or-no questions. A kind of exercise.”
“I’m game.”
I gave Alphus a covert glance. He nodded. I surreptitiously clicked on the hidden video camera. I cleared my throat. I began. “Okay. Did you see Heinie on the night he was murdered?”
“Yeah. Before he left the house. We had a real knock-down. I already told the police.”
“You didn’t see him afterward?”
“Not alive.”
“But dead?”
“Well,